


the parts of me belong to you

by analineblue



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-28
Updated: 2010-10-28
Packaged: 2017-11-03 14:46:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/382487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/analineblue/pseuds/analineblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's their anniversary, and they both want to be remembered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the parts of me belong to you

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the schmoop_bingo prompt _anniversary - perfect gift_.

By the time they're on their way home from a very nice, and fairly expensive anniversary dinner, Ianto has had a few glasses of wine, and is feeling pretty amiable. 

 

He’s happy and warm and content just to be with Jack, just to hold his hand as they stroll along the Plass, putting off going back to work, which is unfortunately inevitable, due to the rift predictions Tosh picked up (and regretfully informed them of) during dinner.

 

“So I didn’t buy you anything,” Ianto starts, staring out at the smooth, shiny surface of the bay, wine loosening his tongue a little. “Because you have everything anyway, and even if you didn't, there’s no way there’s anything here in Cardiff that you'd need."

 

Jack raises his eyebrows, frowning a little. "Cardiff has you.”

 

Ianto rolls his eyes. “And you already _have_ me, Jack.”

 

Jack just grins. “I know, I know, go on.”

 

Ianto takes a deep breath of the crisp, cool air, and feeling the weight of Jack's hand in his, closes his eyes and opens them again into the darkness.

 

“So I didn’t buy you anything," he starts again, wondering now if he's building this up too much. "But there’s something I want to show you back in your office.”

 

“Okay~” Jack sounds curious. “But if we’re going back to the hub, I guess that means there’s something I need to do now.”

 

And before Ianto knows it, Jack is wrapped around him, body pressing against his in smooth lines—his hip, his torso, his neck, his chest. Jack’s forehead is against his, Jack’s fingers pressed against the base of his neck. They’re just breathing, just for a moment, and then Ianto feels Jack’s breath hitch a little against his nose, against his cheek and then they’re kissing, the warm expanse of Jack’s mouth is opening up for him, their tongues pressing against each other--exploring, tempting, confirming.

 

Kissing Jack is an all-consuming experience, and Ianto _loves_ it--he never gets tired of this. He feels the swirl of Jack’s tongue all the way down his spine, feels Jack’s contented hum fill his bones and his skin with electricity. Jack’s hands are gripping Ianto’s forearms—he's holding on tight, kissing him with abandon, with purpose. That Jack can do this and not become a contradiction is...well, it's just _Jack_.

 

Before Ianto knows it, they’re panting, staring each other down, trying to catch their breath, and Ianto’s aching for more, wanting to ditch the hub altogether, wanting to take Jack back to his flat and have his way with him, but he knows that this isn’t possible, at least not for a few hours. Jack seems to have the same thought and subsequent realization because the moment passes. 

 

The cool calm of darkness washes over them, and they breathe, relax.

 

“I have something for you,” Jack says softly a moment later, and he’s holding Ianto’s hand again, tracing lines along his fingers.

 

Then he pulls a small pouch out of his coat pocket, and hands it to Ianto, who pauses for a moment, a little surprised, before unwrapping it carefully.

 

Inside the small bag is a bracelet—braided, with thin strands of silver. The way it shimmers in the moonlight, in Ianto’s hands, it almost sparkles. It looks old, well-worn, but polished, cared for.

 

“It’s beautiful, Jack,” Ianto says. He means it—there’s something about the way the metal shines, he’s never seen anything like it. “Where did you find it?”

 

Jack takes the bracelet from his hand, undoes the clasp, and places it on Ianto’s wrist, his fingers brushing against Ianto's pulse point, lingering for a second before he fastens it.

 

“It was my father’s,” Jack says, his voice low. “I’ve had it for… well, as long as I can remember, really. I wore it for a long time, back when I was a teenager.”

 

Ianto takes in what feels like the enormity of this statement. Jack has never, ever given any indication that he's held on to anything that belonged to his family. Somehow Ianto can't think of a single thing to say.

 

“Why did you stop?” he asks eventually, feeling a little lost.

 

Jack smiles. “Too small. And too many memories, maybe. I had to have the jeweler add a few links for you--it's not quite a match, but it does the trick.”

 

The way Jack's looking at him, with so much focus, so much energy, Ianto can't decide if it's making him uncomfortable, or if it's calming his nerves. He's not sure how he's supposed to react, or what Jack wants him to say.

 

“It’s made from Collactinian silver," Jack says, breaking Ianto's silence. "The best in five galaxies. Actually, they call it silver, but it's an entirely different mineral, really. You can’t find this stuff anymore. The planets that mined it are gone, destroyed. It’s valuable, but that’s not why I’m--why I want you to have it.”

 

“Wow,” Ianto says, staring down at his wrist, still a bit overwhelmed. “It’s really something.”

 

"I mean that," he adds quickly, a little frustrated that he can't find the right words. "It's wonderful Jack, really."

 

“It feels like a part of me," Jack says. "I've been carrying it around with me for so long. I wanted you to have it though. To keep it safe.”

 

“I will, Jack, thank you.” Ianto turns his wrist over, properly feeling it’s weight for the first time. “It’s heavy.”

 

“That’s part of what makes it so valuable—-there have been wars fought over this stuff." Jack grins. "And you may have the only piece in the entire galaxy.”

 

Ianto smiles. He leans in close to Jack, breathing him in. “Thank you—-it’s beautiful.”

 

“Promise me something?”

 

Ianto just nods.

 

“Promise me you’ll wear this and think of me.”

 

Ianto nods again, a little puzzled. “Of course I will.” He lowers his eyes. “Though that makes it sound like you’re going somewhere.”

 

Jack just shakes his head, and squeezes Ianto’s hand. “I’m not, but… I’ve been thinking lately. Anything could happen, right? That whole year I was gone..." Jack cuts himself off, fixing Ianto with a serious look. "And I'm _never_ doing that again, believe me, but... You never know--maybe one day my luck really will run out. And if anything ever happens to me…”

 

Ianto stares at Jack, trying to follow his logic. 

 

"You think..." he pauses, clarifying, figuring it out. "You want me to remember you."

 

Jack shrugs, suddenly uncomfortable. "Well... You just never know."

 

Ianto swallows, hard, because he doesn't really want to acknowledge how many, many times he’s thought about this. It's part of caring about someone, sure, but with Jack, death has become a bit of an obsession. Who will go first. When. How. It doesn't matter all that much, all the times Ianto's seen Jack return miraculously--the fear in his heart when Jack stops breathing, the anxiety that practically cripples him until he comes back, it's as real as anything Ianto's ever felt.

 

“Nothing’s going to happen to you, Jack,” Ianto says firmly. “I promise though," he says, voice softening, his vowels taking on an affectionate lilt. "Of course I do.”

 

And then Jack is kissing him again, a little more softly now, his pace a little more measured. Ianto feels the weight of the bracelet against his skin and it feels good, like it belongs there, like it's part of him, now. He thinks of how long Jack has had this, how many lives he’s carried it through, and just for a second, he feels like he has a place here, that in the inevitable vastness of Jack's life experience, he might just _stick_. And he's not sure whose fault it is, but then the kiss takes a turn so tender that it makes Ianto's toes curl in his shoes, makes him feel a little weightless, floating in this space with Jack. 

 

And then Jack is pulling away, whispering into his ear, against his skin, “Happy Anniversary, Jones, Ianto Jones. Even if we're not celebrating the night we met, I still like calling you that.”

 

It's so silly, so completely _Jack_ , that Ianto can't help but pull back from him with a lopsided grin. “You’re in a good mood tonight.”

 

“Of course I am. It’s our anniversary.”

 

Ianto raises his eyebrows. “Which I had to schedule. And then reschedule. Twice.”

 

“Hey! I don’t control the rift—both those times were completely out of my control.”

 

“Gwen could have taken care of that second incident easily with Owen. Or on her own.”

 

“ _Ianto_ ,” Jack warns good-naturedly.

 

“But I think you’ve made it up to me. It’s my turn now though," he says, regaining a little focus. "Come on.”

 

**

Ianto leads Jack back to the hub, down the lift, and past Tosh, who glances up absently at them over her glasses.

 

“Welcome back—we’ve got about an hour,” she says, staring at her computer screen, barely noticing them.

 

“Perfect,” Jack says, and follows Ianto up and into his office.

 

Once they get there, and Jack has hung up his coat, and is standing there in front of him, watching him expectantly, Ianto takes a deep breath. All of the sudden he's nervous.

 

“So," he starts. "Like I said, I didn’t know what to buy you.”

 

“So I gathered.”

 

“But then," Ianto says, watching Jack's encouraging expression and feeling his heart race a little, "I started thinking about what really matters. And I decided on something.”

Ianto crosses over to Jack’s desk, reaches into the bottom left drawer, and pulls out the well-worn tin box he's thought about so much over the past few weeks.

 

“I took the liberty—I hope you don’t mind.”

 

Ianto hands the box to Jack.

 

“The envelope, on top,” he instructs.

 

Jack glances at him for a moment before leaning back on his desk and opening the box, and then the envelope.

 

In the envelope are photos--actually, only one of them is a true photo--he'd had Gwen take it of them one night, long after all of them should have been at home. It had been so late, he'd been too tired to wonder whether or not Jack would take it the wrong way, whether or not he wanted him to. It's just the two of them though, Jack with his arm around Ianto's shoulders, a tired grin plastered across his face, and Ianto, leaning into him, smiling wider than he thinks has ever been captured in a photo before. 

 

The rest are… Well, Ianto likes to refer to them as still-frames, but basically, they’re screen captures of the hub’s CCTV footage. 

 

Owen leaning back in his chair, frowning at his computer screen, feet up on his desk, take-out containers littering his work area, and Tosh hovering over his shoulder, looking anxious, and a little enamored.

 

Gwen and Jack up in Jack's office, Gwen sitting on the desk, both of them laughing. Relaxed, like Jack could only be with Gwen sometimes. Happy.

 

And then there are a few of him and Jack. 

 

Ianto had lost track of time on several occasions, going through all of the footage, trying to decide which days, which moments to use. He's a little surprised, honestly, by just how much the cameras capture--how many moments he can revisit like this.

In the end, he goes with his gut. Their first kiss ( _proper_ kiss), in Jack's office--that's the first to make the cut.

 

The next one, Ianto calls simply, _Tuesday, 8:06 p.m._

 

Jack had been in the middle of one of his long--epic, really--stories, about nearly starving to death a few centuries back, in the middle of a war that Ianto felt like he barely understood, even though Jack had tried to fill him in on its rather complicated origins. He'd had been on the edge of his seat though, waiting to find out what had happened to some of the peripheral characters-- and Jack, of course--in the story. Jack is a talented storyteller, Ianto has to give him that. It isn't the most exciting of pictures, just him and Jack sitting on the beat up old couch downstairs, but there's something Ianto really likes about it--the light in Jack's eyes that he remembers so well, maybe, and so he includes it. 

 

He includes one of himself standing in Jack's doorway too, though he's wondered several times why exactly it made the cut. Jack's on the phone; Ianto has coffee. Perfectly commonplace, perfectly normal. And maybe that's it. Maybe he wants Jack to know that this is how he sees himself, sometimes. Watching, waiting. Content.

 

Ianto has the screenshots printed--he does the digital clean-up himself, and then sends it off to a local printing shop. When he gets them back, he scrawls the date and time on each of them, as well as a title and description as he sees fit. 

 

He hedges a little on the photo of their first kiss, because somehow this is the hardest, as far as commentary goes. He decides on something along the lines of _you probably don't know this, but I knew all day what was going to happen in your office that night_ , and figures Jack can fill in the rest.

 

The fact that Jack is looking at these photos now, the fact that he's turning them over in his hands, reading and rereading Ianto's commentary and _smiling_ , bright and huge, brings a slight blush to Ianto's cheeks. 

 

"I know it's not much," he says hesitantly. "I probably should've made more of an effort to--"

 

"They're _perfect_ , Ianto."

 

Ianto doesn't say anything, can't; he feels silly, suddenly. He turns his wrist over in his lap, feeling the weight of the bracelet on his skin, under the sleeve of his shirt. He's surprised by his sudden uncertainty, but he can't seem to shake it. He looks to Jack. 

 

"It wasn't that I didn't want to get you anything," he explains. "I just didn't--"

 

"Ianto," Jack cuts him off, fixing him with a serious look. "I wouldn't tell you something was perfect if it wasn't."

 

Ianto takes a breath, trying to trust Jack's words. Eventually he nods.

 

"What I'm trying to say is 'thank you'," Jack says, and his smile is warm, open. "For your gift. And for making all this happen." 

 

"It was a bit of a challenge finding a date that worked," Ianto says, relaxing a little.

 

Jack sets the box down and moves closer to Ianto on the desk where they've both ended up half-leaning, half-sitting. Ianto glances at him. 

 

"How did you pick this date, anyway?" Jack asks. "You joined up in--"

 

"It's the date of our first kiss," Ianto interrupts. "Proper kiss," he adds. "And, well, technically, the date of our first proper kiss was one year and 18 days ago. But, you know, close enough."

 

Jack looks impressed. "Really?"

 

"Yep. Seems like yesterday, doesn't it?"

 

"Not in the least," Jack says, and Ianto laughs. 

 

There's a moment of silence and then Ianto glances over at the box next to Jack.

 

"I know how important that box is to you. I guess I just wanted... I don't know." 

 

_To be a part of it_ , he's thinking. _To be a part of you._

 

"I'm glad though, that you like them," he finishes.

 

"They're perfect, Ianto," Jack says. "You're perfect," he adds affectionately.

 

Ianto rolls his eyes, but his chest hums a little with Jack's approval, his heart pounding.

 

"Hardly," he says.

 

"Tonight you are." 

 

Ianto can feel Jack's gaze burning through him. His stomach dances a little. 

 

Then Jack leans over and kisses him, and it feels so perfect, Jack's lips against his, that even though they've done this a hundred times, Ianto feels like he could fly through the roof of the hub.

 

His buzz has mostly worn off by now, but he feels a little dizzy anyway, with Jack's tongue swirling around his mouth like this, still tasting a little like wine, and the weight of Jack's bracelet against his skin, binding him to this place, this moment in time.

 

The wooden press of Jack's desk is familiar--his body recognizes it's corners, it's edges, and as he folds himself in towards Jack there's a moment where he feels like he remembers every time they've ever done this. Every time Jack has claimed his lips, and he's claimed Jack's, every time Jack has bent him over this desk, every time he's dropped to his knees in front of Jack's chair, every time they haven't even bothered with the desk, and just end up shagging right on the floor. It fills him up and makes him desperate again, for Jack, for more than this. 

 

"Archives, now," Jack hisses into his ear, reading his mind. 

 

"Tosh..." Ianto mumbles, though he's already halfway-there, undressing Jack in his mind, revealing the soft expanse of skin along his chest, his thighs. 

 

"She can wait..."

 

"Cameras?"

 

"Since when are we careful about that?"

 

Ianto laughs. 

 

"I can answer that, having just gone through most of last year's footage," he says, as Jack nibbles at his ear, the firm press of his teeth against Ianto's sensitive skin. "Not very often," he finishes, but it comes out a little breathless.

 

"So why start now?" Jack wraps his arm around Ianto's waist, and Ianto feels the desire in his stomach continue to slowly unravel. He hums into Jack's embrace, nuzzling his ear. 

 

"Thank you," Ianto says softly. 

 

"For what?"

 

"For letting me do this. I know we don't really have an anniversary." He pauses, shrugs a little. "I wanted one, that's all." 

 

"So did I," Jack says, pressing a kiss to Ianto's forehead. 

 

"Guess I got lucky then." 

 

"You better believe you did," Jack says, and then adds, softly, "I hope it was a good one." 

 

"It was, but it's not over yet," Ianto says, and Jack raises his eyebrows at him. 

 

"Guess we better get to it then." 

 

Ianto grins into Jack's shoulder as the world compresses around them; anticipation fills his lungs, as he breathes Jack in, desire and need and urgency filling the space between them, propelling them forward through the doorway, arm in arm.

 

**end**


End file.
